


Wildfire

by novelsandnovellas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelsandnovellas/pseuds/novelsandnovellas
Summary: When a member of the Knight's Guard accidentally offends King Joffrey, Cersei takes justice into her own hands in a cruel ploy against Sandor Clegane.“The Hound saved your life, let’s give him something of Lord Hyntre’s that will be more than punishment for this man... He has a daughter. Order them to be wed."
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	1. An Engagement

The raid was unexpected, peasants stormed the gates of the Red Keep in numbers and managed to get through the guards on the gate. There had been no indication, no whispers in the wind, that a revolt was growing. Varys’s ‘little birds’ had seemingly failed to catch on to this plan, or if they had, they had failed to mention it to King Joffrey and Cersei. 

Hundreds poured through the gates, making their way to the Royal Chambers in search of the Bastard King. They would have his head on a spike, or die trying. 

Lord Hyntre had seem them approaching, spears and axes in hand, and quickly made his way through the hidden tunnels to The Great Hall. Whomever had notified the pursuers of Joffrey’s whereabouts had been incorrect, and so he had made it there in time to announce their presence to the Kingsguard and the King himself. 

They threw aside the whore, named Ros, finished with their enquiry of her. Lord Baelish scooped her off the floor, “Your Grace, if I may take leave to inform the external Guards of the revolt?” He murmured, scheming lips pulled back over his small teeth. Was there nothing this man could say without sounding disgusting. 

The King waved him away, too busy speaking with Hyntre to care about the whereabouts of the Master of Coin. 

The Guards looked ominous as they stood, facing the entry to the hall in unison. Despite the protests of the Queen Regent, Cersei, Joffrey refused to take leave. “It is me they wish to kill; I want to see the look in their eyes as they’re slaughtered!” He sounded like a petulant child to Sandor Clegane, who stood in the shadows of the room, the King’s favorite pet.

Hyntre readied his arrows, pointing them forward as he stood beside Joffrey. He’d recently become the King’s protégé, shooting arrows through men’s skulls with ease. A new sport Joffrey had become accustomed to was asking him to shoot their chests, so the King could cut their throats himself. 

The Guard’s held the front, swinging their swords with such brutality that the blood splattered as high as the Gallery. A smirk played at Joffrey’s evil lips, watching men upon men pile up. His men were winning. 

Lord Hyntre recognized many of the men that were being murdered, having trained with some of them before joining the King’s Guard at the Red Keep. He had already married and had children, but once Joffrey had seen what he could do with a bow, it hadn’t seemed to matter. 

He froze as a straggler emerged from behind the tall tower, recognizing the face of brute with the axe as his former best friend. Hyntre’s bow quivered in his hand, the shot narrowly missing the man’s head as he continued to charge at the King.   
He hadn’t been able to ready another arrow before the large sword cut the man in half; The Hound stood, watching the piece’s slide apart as they fell to the ground in a heap. 

There was silence as the Lord turned to the King, arrow in hand. Joffrey was seething, that much was clear. “He almost had my head, you imbecile.” He screamed, face reddening with rage. Had it been a cooler day, Sandor was sure there would have been bouts of steam pouring off his rouged forehead. “I’ll have yours instead!”. 

Hyntre stepped back, beginning to protest before he was interrupted. “Now there, my King, wouldn’t you think it better to find another, more diplomatic punishment. He is, after all, the best arrow shooter we have; we’ll need him when Stannis comes.” Cersei’s voice cut through the tension in the room, but The   
Hound knew better than to assume there was not a payment for such ‘kindness’. 

“The Hound saved your life, let’s give him something of Lord Hyntre’s that will be more than punishment for this man.” Her eyes met with Clegane’s, a glimmer of justice in her eyes. She hated the maimed man, and had made no secret of it. 

Lord Hyntre looked at the armour clad man, eyes wide. “What could he possibly have that The Hound would make use of?” Joffrey spat, annoyed that his mother had interrupted what Sandor was sure would have been a brutal beheading. 

“He has a daughter.” Cersei murmured, smirking at the man in from of them, whose face was going pale. “Order them to be wed.” The glacier tone of her voice buried itself in Sandor’s chest; he didn’t want to marry some nobleman’s child.   
Joffrey laughed, looking at the pained expression on Ser Hyntre’s face. “What is her name, Ser?” He said, maliciously. 

The Nobleman stuttered, lost for words. “It’s Nora.” He finally managed. “Please, she hasn’t done anything. Spare her.” He continued. 

“Shut up, you fool.” The King spat, holding out his sword and pointing it at Hyntre before gesturing to Sandor. “They’ll marry in a fortnight.” Joffrey walked away, looking bored of the conversation, and the man’s tears. 

The Queen Regent walked towards the scarred man, leaning into his shoulder, “It would be advisable for you to meet your future wife before the week’s end.” She murmured, leaving Clegane and Hyntre without words.

Nora Blaine had always known she was different, even when she was waist-high and tested the magic-like elements on the grass that grew in the garden behind her house. She had grown even more sure when she had grown, and the magic had stayed, because now it couldn’t be part of her imagination. It was real, and her father hated it. 

The Hound followed the Lord to the small brick house alongside the Castle, waiting outside as the man entered alone to tell the daughter his news. 

He could hear her cries of astonishment from where he stood, and rolled his eyes.   
Of course, she did not want to wed him. He hadn’t imagined every marrying in his life, preferring the company of whores who were paid to keep silent about his scarred face over the disgust of the rich women he saw sauntering in the Red Keep. He was sure that he would kill his brother for that someday. 

“Nora! Nora, where are you going?” The Lord inside exclaimed, watching as his daughter stormed towards the door. 

She turned to face him, disappointment in her eyes, “To meet my future husband!” She spat. 

The Hound was shocked when the door swung open, amazed that such anger could come from the small girl in front of him. She couldn’t be older than twenty. 

She looked up at him before striding down the cobbled steps towards the ocean, The Hound shrugged and followed suit, careful to keep a distance from the angry girl. To his surprise, she stopped when her feet met the sand; he hadn’t seen it coming, and tumbled into her, pushing her forward onto her knees. 

“What in the hell are you doing?” Nora snarled, ignoring his offered hand as she pulled herself up and dusted her knees. 

He rolled his eyes, “You’re the one that bloody stopped.” He snapped back. “What did ya expect to happen Little Doe.” He wasn’t expecting her to push him, small hands colliding with the solid armor. The force pushed him back a little, and he laughed. 

“Seems I have a fighter for a wife. I hope you’re the same in the bedroom.” He quipped, laughing to himself. Nora’s cheeks went pink at his words, and she looked away to the sea. “What?” Sandor said, letting out another laugh. “One mention of the bedroom and you’re a blushing bitch.” 

Nora’s lip turned up in a snarl, before she strode away across the bay. Her reaction made Sandor’s eyes widen. “Gods, you’re a virgin aren’t you?”. 

She turned once more, eyes glistening with tears. “What is it to you? You’ll still have plenty of whores to fuck when we’re married, I’m sure!” Sandor rolled his eyes again, but hadn’t expected the vulgar words to come out of her mouth. She seemed purer than a Saint, and he wondered where she’d learnt such language. Growing up in King’s Landing probably didn’t help. 

“I can assure you, Girl, I won’t be lying with anyone but you.” Nora was surprised at his words, for a brute like The Hound, it seemed unlikely that he was so honorable. She’d seen what he could do to innocent men and children. 

The two glared at one another, locked in a silent showdown where neither wanted to surrender. “And what if I don’t want you to lie with me?” Nora said, breaking the quiet. She sounded small, her age showing through her voice. 

He eyed her carefully, “I won’t rape ya, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Nora let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “You can think of me what you like, but I’m no damn rapist.” Sandor knew the lies people told about him. 

“I like my women willing and conscious. And if I can’t find one of those, I pay.” He’d never explained himself to anyone, but for her, he felt some unknown desire to have her know the truth. 

Before she could reply with a smart remark, he spoke again. “You will have to lie with me, you know that Girl? The King’ll have your daddy’s pretty little head if you refuse.” 

The next two weeks were uneventful; soldiers were sent to escort Nora to a chamber in the Red Keep, where she would stay under the King’s command, handmaiden’s flounced around and kept her clean and fed and Joffrey became more insufferable than ever, howling each time he walked past in the hall. She often wanted to go out and tell him that it was wolves who howled, not dogs but her judgement knew better than to disrespect the King. 

She hadn’t seen The Hound since the day on the beach, and had refused to speak with him each time he attempted to visit her room. He returned again the night before the Wedding, and her handmaiden – Lillian – urged her to let him in. 

Nora had forgotten that she was only wearing a slip when Lillian opened the door and let Sandor pass, exiting the room to leave the two of them alone. The room was cold, and Nora’s nipples poked up under the thin silk material. Sandor noticed them, looking away before causing offence. 

“Forgive my appearance, Ser Clegane.” Nora whispered, pulling a robe over to cover the exposed flesh. “I hadn’t expected to see you tonight.” 

Sandor laughed, “I’m no Ser, my Lady and I have been trying every night.” He reminded her, making her blush. Of course he had. “I just wanted to check you hadn’t run away into the night.” Sandor continued. 

Nora raised an eyebrow, “Could I have?” She asked. 

“Not if you want to live.” Sandor replied. She nodded, knowing this would be the answer; had it not been, she’d have run the day her father told the news. 

He approached her slowly, almost hesitant to speak. “I- uh – I wanted to ask for your forgiveness.” Sandor said, confusing the woman in front of him. “Uh- hell knows I’m no good at this, but I am sorry that you have to marry me.” 

The confession shocked Nora, she could usually gauge someone’s character quite quickly, but she definitely hadn’t expected that. “I’m not.” She replied. 

Sandor eyed her, an eyebrow raised, was this a trick? “Why in the seven hells would say that?” He asked. 

“It must be your charm and grace, Sandor.” She quipped back quickly, pausing before smiling sadly. “I’d have married The Imp, had they told me they’d spare my father.” Nora admitted. 

He was surprised at her honest answer. “Well, at least I know you won’t have cold feet.” He muttered, unsure of what to say. For a moment, he realised, just for a moment, he had thought she had meant she wanted to marry him. They shared a sad look. 

“I should get some rest.” She murmured, “You should too.” Sandor nodded, bidding her goodnight before leaving the chamber.

His dreams were filled with silk night dresses and auburn hair.


	2. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight changes made to the previous chapter (18/05/2020). 
> 
> I also cannot seem to get to grips with the American-English spell check on here!!

Nora woke early the next morning to bustling handmaids rushing around her room. They seemed to be readying the station for her hair, and behind a divider screen she could make out the shadow of a long dress. My wedding dress, she thought. She hadn’t yet seen it, not that she cared. Cersei’s dressmaker had taken her measurements the day after the engagement and got to work, so regardless of what it looked like she assumed it would fit.

Cersei had ordered her to dine with her at lunch, and from the sun’s position in the sky she wondered how long it would be until a member of the Knight’s Guard came to take her to the Garden’s. She bathed quickly, washing her long hair and threw on a dress.

The wardrobe had been full when they brought her here; she wasn’t sure who the clothes belonged to but had been ordered to choose her clothing from the selection in there. The dresses were lovely, she couldn’t deny it, whomever they belonged to had either wealth or a very good stylist.

By the time lunch came, Nora had prepared herself for the meeting. She would ensure to remain calm, and collected, regardless of what the Queen Regent said to her. Nora was aware that there were mere hours to her wedding, and she couldn’t imagine ruining her father’s freedom – if you could call it that - this close to the event.

Cersei’s hair was glowing in the sunlight, creating a golden halo around her face. The warmth of her appearance was deceiving, Nora knew that. She was yet to find anything warm about the woman in front of her.

“Are you enjoying your stay?” The older Lady asked as they began to eat; there was a feast of cooked meats, pastries, fruits and vegetables. Enough to feed a whole table of guests, and far too rich for Nora’s liking. If she had any chance of fitting in that dress, she thought it wise to steer clear of the baked goods.

Nora rolled the apple in her hands as she answered, “It’s beautiful here.” _For a prison_ , her mind lulled. The Queen Regent smiled, looking at Nora for a long while before she spoke again. This time, she made her real intentions known.

“I come here with a warning, Nora.” She said simply. “The King could have died because of your father’s actions; do you know that?” Nora’s throat was dry, palms clasped so hard together around the fruit it begun to crack beneath her small fingers. She nodded slowly, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Good.” Cersei leant forward, elbow on the table, face so close that Nora could smell her rose perfume. “If The Hound hasn’t put pups in you before the year ends, I’ll cut your throats myself.” She whispered so softly that Nora was sure it could have been the wind.

Nora’s heart pounded as she was ordered to eat. “You don’t want to be hungry at your Wedding.” Cersei’s feigned concern sent ice through Nora’s veins. Why did Cersei care if they had children, she was a Knight’s daughter and Sandor was a member of the Kingsguard.

“Members of the Kingsguard are forbidden.” Nora stuttered, finally finding words. The Queen Regent’s eyes narrowed, waving her hand in the air as though to brush off this fact.

“They also can’t marry.” She sniped, “Joffrey has agreed to the marriage, he knows what is expected of man and wife.” Nora watched carefully, not wanting to enrage the woman any more than she seemingly had already. “The Hound will be given a pardon, and you will have a child.”

In any other circumstance, the words would have almost been kind. A royal pardon wasn’t granted often, especially not from the Lannister’s. Nora knew that the words were instead a prison sentence, she didn’t even know the man and now they were expected to start a family.

She kept quiet for the rest of the meal, nodding when Cersei spoke, barely eating an ounce of the feast that had been prepared for her.

“Nora,” Cersei chimed as the girl stood to leave, “Try not to start any fires you can’t put out.” Nora’s eyes widened, and all words stuck in her throat. Cersei knew about her, she knew about her secret.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed when she finally returned to her chamber. She was shocked to find Sandor Clegane sitting on the edge of the large bed, and wondered how long he’d been here. His large body was such a weight that even the heavy oak of the bed frame bowed slightly beneath him.

Nora was tired of falsities, and didn’t hide her frustration that the man was here uninvited. She ignored his presence, walking to the table and pouring herself some fruity water. Sandor watched, lip pulled up in a smirk. She was a stubborn bitch; he’d give her that. Perhaps this marriage would be more interesting than he’d originally thought.

“What’s got you riled, girl?” Sandor asked, watching as her body tensed up at the sound of his voice. “It can’t have been me; I haven’t seen you all day.”

The girl let out a long breath, before turning. He was still sat, and she noticed the way his breeches stretched tight around his muscular legs. It was the first time she’d seen him without full armour on, she realised.

“I’m fine.” She muttered, offering a flagon of wine to The Hound. He shrugged, taking a swig from the drink. “If you say so girl.”

Nora was growing more exasperated by the second, “What do you even want? Come to tell me we’re getting married soon so I best make myself look pretty?” She spat, pushing her hands against his chest meekly, as she had when they first met. His large, calloused hands wrapped around her wrists, holding them there. The room was cold, but her skin burnt against his touch.

“I brought you something.” Sandor murmured, digging into a small pocket and pulling out a vial. “It’s moon tea.” Nora stared at the bottle, recognizing the kind intention of her husband-to-be before one word echoed in her mind. Treason.

She pulled away from him, rubbing the red marks of his tight grip absentmindedly. The meeting with Cersei was not one she wished to rehash, especially not with Sandor, this close to the wedding. Nora was unsure of how the large man would react, and would rather not find out just yet. She took the bottle and placed it on the table behind her, planning to lock it away as soon as Sandor left.

Sandor grunted when she stayed silent, “No thanks needed.” He was right, she was being rude. Fear had made her so.

Nora whispered the word, stopping short when a soft knock came from the door. Lillian entered, holding a tight expression as she saw Sandor in her Lady’s room. He rolled his eyes, making the scar on his face roll up slightly, before pushing past the maid.

“Shall we start getting you ready, m’Lady?” Lillian asked, eyeing the makeshift braid Nora had donned herself with that morning. Nora smiled slightly, the maid always hated when she messed with her own hair.

Nora stayed silent as the girl plaited and weaved the strands, before she pulled the dress out of from behind the divider. It was cream, embroidered down the center of the front with long flowing sleeves. She had to admit, it was beautiful, even more so when she was wearing it.

Her father looked solemn when he entered the room, holding out an arm for her. They hadn’t spoken much since the day he brought The Hound to their door, but she knew how much regret he held within him. Nora felt guilty for ignoring his affections.

As they walked to the entrance doors, she could hear the whispers of the guests that filled the chapel; the royal family, the small council, people she didn’t even know and faces she couldn’t place stood in rows. The walkway seemed like an endless road as she made her way towards Sandor, who stood clad in yellow and black at the top of the stairs.

He had cleaned his face since this morning’s visit, and his hair had been pushed back off his face, hooked behind his large ears. It was the first time Nora had seen the burn in its entirety. She wondered briefly if he’d ever tell her the whole story.

She could feel the eyes of hundreds as her father squeezed her hand before placing them in Sandor’s, joining the crowd of staring strangers. Nora didn’t meet Sandor’s eyes as the Septon ordered the cloaking, nor when she felt Sandor place the heavy fabric over her shoulders.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The Septon began, tying the ribbon around Sandor and Nora’s entwined hands. “Let it be known that Lady Nora of House Blain and Sandor of House Clegane are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” Nora’s heart was in her throat as she finally met Sandor’s eyes, they were locked on her with a sad expression.

They kept their gaze as they recited their individual vows in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” It was done, they were wed.

“Well, that was… disgusting.” Joffrey’s sour voice broke through the silence, and Nora’s eyes welled with tears. “You’ll be needing a bedding ceremony, Dog. Are you ready to mount your bitch?”

Sandor let out a low growl as various members of the crowd walked forward, ready to grab and tear at Nora and himself. “Touch her and you’ll lose your hand.” He snapped at the vultures. “I can bed her myself.”

He grabbed Nora’s arm, ignoring her protests. “Would you rather be taken there, clothed or ripped at by posh boys?” He snarled when she pushed back against his hold, not giving her much time to deliberate before he began to pull her away from the forming crowd and down the halls to his chamber.


	3. The Bedding

“Drink.” The large man muttered, pouring the wine sloppily and handing it to Nora.

She held up her nose, “I don’t drink!”. How dare he order her around, she thought. 

He let out a breath, before meeting her eyes. She was stunned to find herself looking into the eyes of a begging man. “Please.” Sandor whispered, pushing the cup to her once more. “We both know what we have to do tonight, and I’d rather you enjoyed it some.”

She watched him for a second, eyeing his large armour and burnt face before picking up the wine, finishing the warm drink in one mouthful. The alcohol burnt her throat, making her wince and shake her body to get the sensation to go away.

Sandor watched his new wife carefully; she was beautiful, there was no denying that, but Nora hadn’t chosen to marry The Hound. Cersei had made that order to spite the man.   
He wondered briefly how old she was, but shook the thought from his mind. It would only complicate the event that was required of them.

Nora refilled her cup, offering the jug to Sandor as she chugged the second tankard – drops of wine dripped from her soft chin, staining the white dress she adorned. The dress meant little to her, she hadn’t chosen the material that was made by her enemies and would gladly tear it to pieces if she got the chance. ‘Maybe the Hound plans to do that anyway’, her subconscious sniped.

As the night went on, the silence in Sandor’s chamber grew louder. The only sounds in the large room were the gulping of wine and flagons hitting the large wooden table, ready for a refill. 

After what felt like hours, Nora looked up at her Husband once more. She was shocked to find his eyes locked on her; she wasn’t sure if the hazy glow that entangled his features was a result of the wine, or the fire that burned beside them. 

“Will you hurt me?” She asked, voice small. Sandor’s eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head. 

He walked towards her slowly, kneeling in front of Nora. “It will hurt girl.” His voice was gruff, but he chose his words carefully. “But I won’t. Not ever.”

Nora looked at him curiously, “Why? Isn’t that what you’re best at?” She replied. 

“It’s not my business to hurt little girls.” He said sharply, lifting himself up and grabbing the wine cup from her hand, finishing the drink. 

Her eyes narrowed, “I’m not a little girl!”. Sandor laughed at her, causing a blush to rise along her neck and into her cheeks. 

“Aye, you are. But not after tonight – you become a woman tonight.” His words sent a chill down her spine, knowing what was coming made her stomach turn. 

She knew he was right though, and with a deep shaky breath, she stood. Her soft hands worked at the ties of her corset pushing her small sleeves off her shoulders, making Sandor’s eyes lock on her face and his cock harden beneath his breeches, hidden by the thick armour he was clad in.

When their eyes met, he couldn’t help but note the innocence that veiled her green orbs. “Will you help me?” She murmured, turning and lifting her hair out of the way. His clumsy hands pulled roughly at the remaining ties, exposing the soft pale skin of her back to him. Sandor could see the way her body heaved with her anxious breathes. 

He pushed the dress down her slim figure, watching as it revealed her plump arse and slender legs. His cock, still clothed, throbbed, begging to be released. Sandor wondered what her cunt would taste like, imagining it would be sweet. 

Nora stood still, gazing forward as she covered her breasts. She was aware of the man behind her, examining every curve and groove of her body. Strangely, she didn’t mind that it was The Hound that was looking. It must be the wine, she thought. 

Sandor’s touch was soft as his hands traced her shoulders, turning her to face him. He tilted her head to meet their eyes, “I’m going to do something that will make it easier.” He said, taking her hand and leading her to the bed. 

He couldn’t help but notice how glorious she looked, laid out ready for him to take her virtue. Her breast perky and full. Sandor pulled her legs off the bed, hanging them off the edge, toes just reaching the stone step that led them there. 

Nora tried to hide her confusion, pushing up onto her elbows as she watched him undress from his solid metal armour. He eyed her before stripping himself of the tunic under shirt, leaving only the soft cloth barrier between her and what was hidden beneath. 

He knelt, calloused fingers brushing from her ankles to her thighs, slowly spreading her legs as he eyed up her soft flesh, an almost ravenous look in his eyes. He barely had time to take notice of the way his skin scorched his like wildfire. Ignoring it, he smirked at her before pressing his nose to her folds, nudging the skin as his tongue met the nub beneath. 

A wave of pleasure shot through Nora, a small gasp leaving her lips as they parted. Sandor growled at the noise, licking and suckling more ferociously, desperate to hear more. Nora’s head fell to the cushions behind, back arching of the bed as the pleasure grew in her belly. She winced as Sandor pushed a finger into her, “It will help later.” He said before she could complain.

Despite being uncomfortable, she couldn’t deny that it felt good. She briefly wondered what it would feel like with Sandor’s cock, his fingers were thick enough as it is. Her thoughts were interrupted by the quick flick of Sandor’s tongue repeatedly meeting that sweet spot, bringing her quickly over the edge. 

She gripped his coarse hair with her fingers at she reached her high, pulling at the strands. Sandor let out a hiss, coming up to meet her level. “You taste sweeter than all seven hells girl.” The Hound muttered, the two staring at one another before their lips crashed, enveloped in the high that he’d just given her. He couldn’t wait to take her. Positioning them on the bed, he pulled at the trousers, discarding of them onto the floor. Nora’s eyes were wide as she looked down at his member, it was thick and veiny and way too big to ever fit down there, surely. 

“It will fit girl, don’t you worry.” He murmured, reading her thoughts. Sandor kissed her roughly, capturing her tongue with his, distracting her momentarily as he pushed his thick cock inside. She squealed against his lips, tears forming in her eyes as he stretched every part of her. Nora was sure she could feel him everywhere. 

Sandor groaned into her shoulder, every muscle tensed as he fought to restrain himself from pounding her into the bed. He could have; he wanted to. Instead, he stilled, allowing her innocent body the time needed to accommodate such a foreign invader. He suckled at her neck, sure to leave a mark, before meeting her waiting lips. As their tongues danced, Nora’s hands came to the bottom of Sandor’s back, pushing on the hard skin. She wanted more. 

Obligingly, Sandor begun to thrust into her, building up a steady pace. She moaned in turn, the feeling unexpected and unpredictable. She’d always wanted to know what it felt like to be taken by a man, and whilst she’d never expected him to be The Hound, it was more than the stories from Baelish’s whores had prepared her for. 

“More.” She murmured desperately, “Please.” Every nerve in Sandor’s body came alive at his wife’s words, she wanted more of him. 

His large hand grasped at her thigh, pulling it to rest on his hip as he began his merciless pursuit for her orgasm. His name rolled off her tongue like the songs of church folk, growing louder as the walls of her cunt grew tighter around his cock. Sandor slipped his hand down between them, rubbing Nora’s sweet spot like a crazed animal. It only took minutes before her walls were clenching around him, Nora’s words jumbled as she came undone at the hands of The Hound. Sandor continued thrusting, finding his own high through the tunnel of Nora’s orgasm and spilling himself inside her. 

He collapsed down, careful not to crush her with the weight of his body. Nora let out a small sigh, bringing her hand to the nape of her husband’s neck and resting it there.   
“Did I hurt you, Little Doe?” Sandor’s gruff voice vibrated against the skin of her breasts, and though he would never admit it, he was scared of what the answer would be. 

It was several minutes before she responded, thinking over the event that had happened in detail before concluding her thoughts, warmth growing once more between her legs. “No.” She replied simply, “Quite the opposite.” 

Sandor hid the smile that tugged at his lips, instead grunting and kissing her brashly on the lips before pulling out of her. 

Nora stared quietly at the mix of her innocence and Sandor’s juices on the white sheets. It shocked her slightly when she realised that she couldn’t imagine any other person she’d have rather shared the night with, and shame filled her.

“At least I got a wife with a nice cunt.” Sandor said, ruining the silent moment they were bathing in. Nora rolled her eyes at the crass language of her husband. Oh, what it was like to be married to The Hound.


	4. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor finds out about Cersei's order. 
> 
> P.S. Sorry for being so lame at updating this! I work full time and also go to University on the side, so I'm pretty forgetful! I'll try to be better, I promise! (26/06/20)

Nora watched as The Hound slipped into a deep sleep. His breathing was soft against the pillow, and from the position he lay, the ‘monstrous’ scar wasn’t visible; for a moment, Nora forgot that it even existed. She could see his fingers curl under the sheets, and it took her a second to realise that his fingers grasped a steel blade. It seemed he felt just about as safe as she did within the walls of this castle.

She pondered leaving the room, and going back to hers, but she knew he would follow when he woke, and he was not the only thing she feared in this place. Instead, she sank back into her seat at the desk, the space between her thighs burning with friction. The wooden box was placed on it, as she’d requested of Lillian; Nora opened it quietly, breath catching once more as she looked at the vial Sandor had brought her earlier that day. The moon tea was sat, encased in a velvet wrap, taunting her.

Nora closed the box, leaving the bottle untouched. The sheets on the bed were made of a thin silk, it surprised her that The Hound had such expensive taste and whilst she fell asleep thinking of it, it did not keep the nightmares away.

_Nora recognized the auburn haired child who sat, long legged and distressed, watching as her hands rubbed furiously at the tears in her eyes, cheeks reddened with anger. It was her young self and she remembered this day like no other._

_Her own lips were glued shut as she tried to scream at the girl on the bed. Her own eyes brimmed with tears as she watched the young girls hands hover over the cotton sheets, the flames flickered over the girls hands and across her arms, dragging themselves over the pale skin and down across the bed. Soon, the girl was surrounded by fire. Nora closed her eyes, but she could see the reflection of her mother’s face burnt onto the backs of her eyelids._

The scream burst across her lips, and her eyes shot open. Sandor was shaking her; shock covered his face as he looked down at the sobbing girl. It was light outside already, and Nora wondered briefly just how long she had been screaming. She could feel the heat on her skin, a reminder that the flames were never gone; Sandor could never know about her, she thought, he could never know what she was.

“What’s got you frightened, girl?” Sandor grunted, pulling the duvet back from her burning skin. It exposed her nipples to the cool air of the night, and he tried to ignore the way they stiffened at the contact with the breeze.

Nora couldn’t speak, all words caught in her throat as he silently pulled her up against him. Sandor wasn’t usually the affectionate type; the whores never stayed longer than they needed to, and he had never wanted to them to. He had nightmares of his own that he’d rather people didn’t know about. But he let the small girl lay there, curled into him, as she cried herself dry.

Sandor tried to stay as still as possible; Nora had fallen asleep after she’d calmed enough to close her eyes and if he moved, she’d wake again. Closing his own eyes, he allowed himself to drift off once more and when he woke, the room was empty.

Nora bathed herself that morning, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the vivid memories that flashed in her mind every time her hands ran over the places The Hound had touched the night before. She could hear his grunts as her fingertips traced the small circular bruises on her hips. The marks of his strong grip did not seem to hurt, instead she could feel was the small ball in her stomach aching for another release from the confusing man.

Her bliss was cut short when there was a thumping knock at the door; she jumped up quickly, rushing to grab a cloth to cover herself. She hadn’t quite managed to wrap it around herself before the door swung open. The King, Joffrey, flounced in, eyeing her exposed skin with disgust. Nora pulled at the material, wishing she’d found something larger than the small cover.

Joffrey walked around the room, picking up her belongings before placing them down again. “Mother tells me you’re to have pups?” He said after a few minutes. She was frozen in place, cautious at where this was headed. Joffrey’s head whipped up, and he stared harshly at her before running his eyes down her once more. Nora prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

His gaze stopped at her thighs, and he smirked. Pulling out a blade from his belt, he walked towards her. Every nerve in her body urged her to run, but she knew she could not escape. She flinched as the icy blade pushed the towel further away from her, exposing the soft skin of her hips and upper thighs. “It looks like you already got started.” He taunted, pushing into the bruises that Sandor had left.

“Did he fuck you hard?” Joffrey asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear. The ice of his breath made her shiver. “Did you like it? Being fucked by my pet dog?” His voice was cruel, and the blade dug into her thigh. When Nora did not respond, the blade swiped across the skin and she felt the warm blood run down her leg. “I said, did you like it?” He snarled.

The sound of footsteps brought her eyes to the door, and her gaze met the stony face of her husband. Joffrey turned too, and as he moved away from Nora, Sandor noticed the blood on her pale skin. The King laughed, “Just in time, Dog. Your wife was just about to answer my question.” He pointed the now-red blade at Nora once more, waving it slightly.

Nora’s breath was shaky as she whispered the next word. “Yes.”

Joffrey was becoming irritated, Sandor could see it in his cold expression. “Yes…?” Joffrey snapped.

“Yes, I liked being fucked.” She whispered with eyes locked on the floor.

The King smirked, before turning to walk out of the room. He stopped just in front of Sandor, who slowly edged out of the King’s way. “Remember what Mother said, little whore.” Joffrey said with a parting snarl.

As the door slammed shut, Sandor walked towards Nora. She still hadn’t looked up, and his rough hands forced her face to meet his. “What is that swine on about?” He said gruffly, pressing slightly deeper into her cheeks with his fingers when she didn’t answer.

“Cersei-” Nora began, voice small. “She’s ordered- I have to be pregnant before the year ends” She stuttered over the words, and felt Sandor’s grip fall from her face.

She had never seen him so quiet. “I’m sorry.” Nora whispered, trying to gain a reaction, any reaction other than silence, from the man in front of her.

“I won’t do it.” Sandor finally spoke, “Not for her.”

“She’ll kill us both if we don’t” Nora replied.

He chuckled bitterly. “You think I care about that? I’d like to see her try.” Sandor’s face was hard, but his eyes were wide with a fear that he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “I’m not having a child. Not with you, not with anyone, not ever.”

Nora backed away, more aware of the small sheet now than she had been when Joffrey was stood in front of her. She wondered why his words hurt so much, why should she care if he didn’t want children with her?

Sandor noticed the saddened look on his wife’s face, and stepped forward, halting when he saw her back even further away from him. He scoffed, “You’re telling me you’d do it?” Sandor’s voice was harsher than he had meant, and it felt like a slap across Nora’s cheek.

“You once told me that I couldn’t run, even if I wanted to.” Her voice matched his, “I didn’t take you for a coward.”

When she met his gaze, she was certain of one thing – it was not Sandor looking back at her, it was The Hound.

“I’d rather see your head on a spike, than a babe in your arms.” He snarled, knowing it would hurt her. He saw the pain for just a second before he turned to leave the room. “I don’t care how much you liked it; I won’t fuck you if it means you’ll be pregnant.”

Nora felt as small as the girl did in her dreams, as she realised they were both doomed.


	5. Coming Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not a huge fan of the Title 'Little Doe' (28/06/2020) and really want to change it. 
> 
> Based on the fic so far, does anyone have any ideas...? 
> 
> C x

It had been over a week since Nora had last seen Sandor; he was avoiding her, and she had not bothered to search too hard to find him.

She had stayed in her room since that morning, which had only allowed her annoyance at her husband's stubbornness to grow. She stared at the scripts in front of her, bored of reading about old Kings and their achievements, thinking back to the conversation she had had with Lord Baelish a few days prior – he had made it clear that staying in a room without your husband was ‘a clear defiance of the Queen Regents orders’. Nora had told him, “Fuck Cersei and her orders.” Before ordering him to leave.

It was only when Sansa had come to her room that she had decided she should probably find Sandor. It would seem he was more the Hero than he had let on. Sansa was her only friend here, and her tale had almost made her forgive Sandor’s stubborn defiance.

The halls in this part of the castle were quiet enough for Nora to gauge whether Sandor was alone. She could hear the clanking of armour behind the large door, and took a breath before walking in unannounced. It caught in her throat when Sandor turned in surprise, the point of steel resting against her neck.

“Do you not know how to knock, Girl?” He growled, tossing the large metal to the side. He was angry, she noted, closing the door carefully behind her.

She shrugged, “You are alone, and does it matter if I knocked?” Nora’s newfound confidence did not go unnoticed by Sandor, who eyed her suspiciously.

“And if I hadn’t been alone?” He questioned, eyebrow raised. “If I’d had a whore here, what then?” Sandor taunted her, sensing her discomfort as he continued. “Would you have asked to join in?”

Instead of shrinking into her shell, as she normally would have, she stalked towards him. “I have it on good word that I’m _the only girl you’ll be laying with_.” She was only an inch from him when he noticed what she was wearing – or more so, the lack of clothing.

“I should learn to shut my fucking mouth.” He snapped back curtly. Nora only smirked, rubbing her fingers over his chest before sitting on the end of the bed and folding her long legs.

From this angle, in the low light of the sunset, Sandor could see every inch of her beneath the soft satin slip she adorned.

“I heard about the attack today.” She said, absentmindedly running her hands through her long hair before pushing it back and exposing her neck to him. Sandor’s throat was dry as he watched his wife, fighting every urge to flip her over on the mattress and take her right there. Seven Hells, she was beautiful.

Nora leant forward, breasts pushing her nipples taut against the slip. “What about it?” Sandor tried to maintain his composure, grabbing a tankard and filling it with wine as he sat on the chair, legs wide as he kept a close eye on his wife.

“Sansa is like a sister to me. I wanted to say thank you.” Nora’s voice held various meanings, and he was sure for a second she did not mean she was here to just tell him those words. As she began to move, he knew he was correct.

Nora unwrapped her legs slowly, flashing the uncovered flesh between her legs before she stood and walked towards him. Sandor’s eyes followed her as she came to a halt in front of him. Nora seemed to ponder something before shrugging, to herself he presumed, and placing a leg either side of his and sitting. Instinctively, Sandor’s arm wrapped around her waist to stop her from falling. He could feel his breathing change as he saw her lips part; he realised he had missed seeing her.

“I want to thank you.” Nora whispered, never breaking eye contact with Sandor. He breathed in deeply, his jaw tight as he shook his head. His voice was pained when he spoke.

“We can’t.” Sandor could not believe had managed to keep his restraint when his wife looked so delicious.

Nora ignored the pang of rejection that sunk in her stomach, she could think about that later. For now, she wanted only him. “Don’t you want to please your wife, Hound?” She changed tactic. “Your wife wants you to.”

Sandor felt himself harden beneath his breeches, and from the smirk that played on Nora’s lips, she had felt it too. “Not if it means granting Cersei’s wish.” He was losing the battle, and he knew it.

Nora rolled her eyes, pulling a vial from behind him. _Moon tea_. “I’ll take it, please… Sandor, please don’t make me beg.” Her voice was desperate, and he could feel the way her hips shifted slightly, trying to gain any form of friction.

“What if I want you to?” Sandor murmured with a smirk, hands digging into her waist gently, holding her in place. “Beg.” He commanded her, as she let out a frustrated whine.

Nora was silent for a moment, and Sandor was almost about to cave when she spoke softly. “Please Sandor; I want to feel you the way I did that night.” Her eyes begged it of him too, and suddenly he was ravenous.

“Say it.” His voice was as tight as his trousers. “Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed against her neck, one hand flat against the small of her back as the other hooked under her thigh as he stood.

Nora was breathless. “Please-” She gasped, “Sandor, I want you to fuck me.”

Sandor threw her backward onto the soft cushions, pulling off his own shirt in one swift movement. He climbed over her, hovering when their faces met. She was panting like a bitch in heat. He smirked, before tearing her thin slip dress in two, earning a small gasp from his wife.

“Sandor!” She began to scold to him, but his lips wrapped around her nipple and took it between his teeth. “Oh-” Nora moaned.

Sandor placed a hand between her spread legs, growling against her skin when the moisture covered his fingers. He kissed at her neck before suckling the moisture off his long digits. Nora writhed underneath him as he undid his breeches and released his cock and pressed it against her thigh.

Nora could see the feral look in his eyes as his head came back to her level, it was the same look he’d had as he had watched her from the chair. “Beg.” He commanded again, voice low and husky.

Sandor pushed inside her as the word brushed over her lips, “Please.” She had whispered, moaning softly as he finally gave her what she knew they had both been waiting for. He waited only a second for her to adjust before he began thrusting in and out of her small cunt, sloppily kissing her neck as he picked up pace.

He had been gentle the first time, for her sake, but there was nothing that would stop him today. He was rock hard, thoroughly aroused and frustrated at the girl’s ability to shake his willpower so easily. Nora’s moans got louder as he continued his relentless mission on her body; they were so different from the sounds the whores made, so raw and real. Heavens knew, he would never be able to fuck another girl again now he had heard her sweet groans. Knowing they were for him only spurred Sandor on.

As he continued to bury himself in her, she felt the sweat growing on his skin, and her hand moved to push his hair from his face. They brushed softly over his melted skin before pulling his mouth to hers. Sandor pulled roughly at her thigh, shifting it to where he knew he’d be able to hit the sweet spot inside her. Nora bit down on his lip as he did so, earning a growl from The Hound.

She came undone around his cock within minutes, gasping as if she’d come up out of water for air for the first time in days. Her fingernails dug into the small of his back, and he spilled his seed inside her, the squeeze of her cunt drawing every drop from him. A fear settled in him as he wondered if she’d stick to her word about the moon tea, but as he saw her lust-dazed eyes gazing at him, he didn’t have the strength to take away her current bliss. He realised after a second that he had never seen her this relaxed since he met her.

Sandor pulled out of her slowly, before laying down beside her and pulling her over to rest against his chest.

They in silence for a while, before either spoke. “Why did you save Sansa?” Nora said, breaking the silence and leaning up so she could see his face. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“She’s only a girl. No use in leaving her to the rapers when she’s to wed the King.” Sandor replied gruffly. “Little Cunt of a boy.” He added, making Nora smile.

“Some are saying you care about her.” Nora teased. He raised a brow, noting the tone of jealously that laced her voice.

He gripped her arse, squeezing. “Jealous of the Stark girl, are ya?” It was his turn to tease, and Nora’s cheeks flamed.

“How old are you?” She asked, changing the subject before he could embarrass her further. He laughed loudly, mimicking the sound of a dog he was so aptly named after.

Sandor looked at her. “Should be me asking that, girl.” Nora rolled her eyes; she wished he’d stop calling her that.

“I’ve had my twentieth name day, you know. I’m _not_ a girl.” She said defensively. She was right, in a way; he had thought she was a lot younger.

He nodded, “At least I’m no child fucker.” Sandor said thoughtfully before he continued. “I’m almost twice your age.” The thought was slightly grotesque to Nora, but she knew it wasn’t uncommon for such marriages to happen. Most maidens were a lot younger than she was, she thought, so if anything she was lucky.

“What?” Sandor grunted when she didn’t reply. She shrugged, “You’re not too old, I suppose.” His howling laugh filled the room once more, and Nora giggled along with her husband.

The moment of happiness was short-lived as Nora remembered the promise she’d made during her attempt at seduction, and she shifted off the bed. “Where ya going?” Sandor seemed disgruntled. Nora ignored him, and continued towards the desk, turning only to raise the vial in toast before she swigged an ounce of the liquid. It was disgusting, and it took all she had to swallow the drink and not spit it straight out.

“Didn’t think you’d go through with it.” Sandor muttered as she re-joined him on the large bed.

Nora leant against the headboard, looking down at him with a confused expression. “But you fucked me anyway?” She questioned, the words sounding unnatural coming out of her mouth.

The man shrugged, “My cock was hard and you were naked.” Sandor snapped. It had been a risk, a stupid one at that, and he was still annoyed that he’d let a woman have such a hold on him.

Nora rolled her eyes, “That’s stupid.” She muttered, “I could’ve been lying.”

Sandor nodded. “But you didn’t.” He snapped sharply, pressing his lips tight and covering his eyes with his large arm.

“You don’t want children?” Nora asked quietly.

He had lain so still that she was sure he had not heard, and jumped when he shot upwards to face her. He pulled her onto his lap, gripping her thighs. She winced as his fingers grazed the bruised sore from Joffrey’s blade and he glanced down at the cut.

“We’ll have _pups_ when the Lannister cunts are dead and we’re so far from King’s Landing that even their ghosts won’t find us.” Sandor whispered softer than Nora had ever heard him speak.

He pulled the girl back down onto his chest once again, “Now shut up so we can sleep.” He said voice still soft.

Nora smiled against his skin at his rude words and closed her eyes; his revelation was enough for her, for now.


	6. The Ride

Nora and Sandor stayed like this for the next few days, fucking lazily and gorging themselves on fresh fruit and cured meats. Nora had been surprised the first day, when she had woken to her husband bare bottomed, holding grapes out in front of her with a wolfish grin. She had gone with it, enjoying the small moments of affection her husband seemed to offer.

They had known each other for only a month, and Nora realised she had the majority of it hiding from the man. She learnt quickly that he did not speak all too much, and when he did, he was usually cussing about someone or saying something rude.

Today, Sandor was returning to his place beside the King, and it was strange to see him covered in metal. He looked slightly awkward as he readied to leave, bounding suddenly to where she lay on the bed and kissing her gruffly before he turned and left. It was strange to be in his bedchambers alone, she had thought after a while, grabbing one of his shirts to wear back to her room. Her dress was a ruin, and the thought of Joffrey finding her exposed again made her shiver.

Nora moved quickly through the halls, trying to keep as quiet as she could, her head pointing down. She didn’t notice the figure in front of her, and bumped straight into her, falling backwards onto the floor. Sansa giggled at the girl on the floor. “Gosh, Nora. Are you-” She stopped when she noticed the girl was half-naked. “Oh. Nora, are you okay?” Nora took Sansa’s outstretched hand and hummed softly as she stood.

“Um, yes. I’m just trying to get back to my room.” Sansa nodded, blushing slightly. Nora knew what it must look like, barely dressed in Sandor’s large cotton shirt; she hadn’t even looked in the mirror before she left, and so dreaded how her hair looked. “Uh, would you like to join me?” She murmured, beginning to walk again. Sansa followed like a lost puppy.

Lillian gasped when the two women entered, and Nora rolled her eyes. “Go, Lillian.” Ignoring her handmaiden’s protests, waving at her to leave as he began to undress.

Nora’s smile was small as she noticed the way Sansa’s eyes diverted to the floor at the sight of Nora’s naked body. She was as innocent as the tales spoke of. She drew the bath hot, and stepped in as it continued to run, pulling the curtain past her body, leaving her head on show before letting Sansa know she could look.

“How are you?” Nora spoke softly, gazing at the small girl. She was thinner than she had been when Nora arrived; the girl had gone through hell here, and yet she still planned to marry that horror of a boy.

Sansa smiled, but it did not quite reach her sad eyes, “I’m well, but it should be me asking. You’re married to The Hound.” She replied. “I can’t imagine what it’s like being married to someone like that.” Nora was slightly offended, given the recent events between the girl and her husband, but ignored it. If she hadn’t spent the past two days in bed with the beast, he’d probably seem that way to her too.

“It’s strange,” Nora began carefully, measured, “being married, it’s difficult.” She hoped that the girl would catch her meaning, her subtle pry into what the younger girl was thinking. Joffrey was a vile boy, even worse than the painted image of Sandor that she knew everyone had. Sandor was rude, and brutish and downright frightening at times, but she almost always knew that she was safe around him. She had heard stories of Joffrey that had even her scared to the bone.

“The King is my beloved, I can’t wait to marry him.” Sansa replied automatically, almost rehearsed. Nora wondered how many times she had said those words to the other priers in this prison. Sansa sighed when she saw Nora’s sad look, “I know what people think of me, you know. I know they think I am a stupid, silly little girl. I’ve heard what they say about the _little bird_.” She murmured. “But I love Joffrey. I really do,” She looked up from her hands to meet Nora’s concerned face. “I don’t have anyone else here.”

Nora pushed out of the tub, throwing on a robe before walking to sit beside the young girl. “I don’t like Joffrey, Sansa. Hells, I hate that cunt.” She shushed Sansa as she tried to interrupt. “But I know what it is like to only have one person in this place,” Nora continued, gripping onto the Stark girl’s hand, “And even when that person is as horrible as they all say, well, they’re all you have.”

The two women sat there for the majority of the day, each taking turns to hold one another as they shared stories of their lives. Sansa reminisced about Winterfell, and told Nora about her wish for the two of them to go their together one day, and spoke sadly of Ned, her father and the way Joffrey had forced her to look at his head on a spike. Somewhere in the conversations, Nora developed a strange sadness for Sansa, herself and every other soul trapped in this castle. She wondered, when the time came, just how many would escape.

Nora was exhausted when the door sounded, and for a moment, she considered pretending she was asleep. Her father’s voice sounded through the door, “Nora, it’s me. May I enter?” She flung the door open and jumped into his arms, earning a gruff laugh.

“Oh, my dear Nora, how I’ve missed you.” He whispered, sniffing as his eyes filled with tears. When she finally let go, she noticed he was still in his golden cloak, and raised an eyebrow. He shifted under her scrutinizing gaze, “Uh, I’m here on orders to take you to-” He took a breath. “To your husband.”

“We can’t stay here for a while?” She replied hopefully, offering a flagon to him. He shook his head sadly, placing the drink back on the side. “But I haven’t seen you since the wedding!” Nora protested, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hynter rubbed her shoulder glumly, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Why haven’t you been to see me?” She asked, pushing away to gather her things. Nora was frustrated with being ordered around by the people who ruled this castle, and suddenly knew why Sandor always cursed their names.

The Lord eyed her carefully before responding. “I’m only allowed here when on orders from the King.” He seemed embarrassed at his admission.

She scoffed. “Cersei really does hate me.” 

Nora knew it wasn’t worth fighting with her father about this, and knew it was even more irresponsible to refuse to go with him. She tried to get as much information from him as they walked down the halls, asking questions about what the Lannister’s were up to, whether there was a war coming, what he had been doing. The Lord answered in small sentences, and ignored much of what she was asking, only pointing at his ears and then to the wall. He was right; _words were not safe here in the open._

“Come see me soon?” She begged as they reached the first floor chamber, hugging him tightly and making him promise before she let go. He leant down to press a kiss to her forehead before disappearing back the way they had come.

Sandor ignored her when she entered the room, continuing to polish down his sword with a stony face. Nora rolled her eyes before sitting on the chair, watching as his large hands rubbed over the metal repeatedly. It was methodical, and as she continue to watch, it was oddly soothing. 

He snarled when he noticed her looking, it pushed up the scar on his face and make him look deadlier than ever. “What?” Sandor snapped. “What do you want?”

Nora shrugged, too exhausted to think up a retort to his bad attitude. This only seemed to annoy the man more, and he slammed the sword down in anger, breathing heavily as he turned back to face the girl.

“I haven’t got patience to deal with you today.” He said harshly, pulling open his vest and throwing it into the corner of the room. Sandor pushed down his breeches, leaving only a thin cloth covering his manhood, and sat on the foot of the large bed, closing his eyes. Nora wondered for a moment what had happened to get him so riled.

She walked towards the end of the bed, ignoring the way his eyes flung open as her small hands rested on his shoulders before slowly moving to straddle his lap. It was becoming a common occurrence lately, and Sandor had almost memorized the feeling of her hips where his hands now came to lay, pulling her small body closer to him. 

He could tell she was nervous, and despite his foul mood, intrigue stopped him from speaking. Nora pressed a soft kiss to his lips, keeping her eyes open in case he chose to throw her off him. When he didn’t, she continued, kissing up his maimed cheek and back to his large lips. Sandor breathed deeply as her lips traced the burns of his skin; this part of his face was unexplored territory, the whores were too afraid to touch him anywhere at all, let alone on his disfigurement. 

Sandor’s hand laced through the mass of auburn hair, pulling her lips to his as he took her mouth with his tongue. Nora moaned into the kiss, pressing herself against him hungrily. Through the thin material of her dress, Sandor could feel the wetness between her legs, smirking as his slipped his fingers beneath, enjoying the way she squirmed at his touch.

“Look at that, you’re all wet and ready for me.” Sandor growled against her ear, biting on the pink flesh as he shifted them backwards onto the bed. When he tried to flip them, Nora’s hands pressed back defiantly, pushing him back against the mattress so she was astride him. Her hands were soft as they pulled at the cloth between them, and his hips jerked up when her fingers wrapped around his hard member.

She looked like a whore in Baelish’s whorehouse as she lifted up, guiding him to her entrance before sinking down and taking him fully. She was more beautiful than any whore he had ever fucked, that much was certain.

Resting her hands on his chest, she began to slowly lift, until she was almost all the way off, before she sank down once again. Sandor groaned at the feeling, gripping tightly at her hips and guiding her to go faster. She obliged, riding his cock faster, her breasts bouncing under the smooth material of her dress. Sandor reached up with one hand, pulling the material down and suckled hard on her pointed nipple.

He could feel her twitch around his cock as he continued to lick at the small nub, coaxing soft panted moans from her as he guided her up and down on him. Soon, she began to slow, tightening round him with each bounce. She was close, he thought, and Sandor gripped her hips on both sides, holding her in place as he began to pound her from beneath.

Nora hissed at the fullness, fingernails digging into his chest as he groaned her name. She felt all of him as her cunt tightened, and she came on his cock. The feeling overwhelmed Sandor, her walls clenching around him in such a sweet way and he let himself get lost in it, shooting his warm load inside of her before she collapsed against his sweat-laced skin.

“You ride better than any whore I’ve ever met.” Sandor spoke, once they had both caught their breath, glancing down at her with a wolfish grin.

Nora blushed. “Have many have?” She enquired quietly, the reds of her cheeks darkening even more.

Sandor paused for a moment, thinking about his answer. “Not many.” He admitted. In truth, he hated the whores staring at his face; they would only look at the burn. “I take ‘em from behind. _Like a hound fucks his bitch_.” That way he could at least pretend they were enjoying themselves.

He laughed at Nora’s shocked expression, with her eyes wide and lips parted like a precious doll, he could fuck her all over again. “Oh.” It was all Nora could manage and Sandor shot her a toothy grin.

“I’ll fuck you like that soon,” He promised, rolling over so he was on top of her before pulling out of her. Nora ignored the emptiness she felt when he did so, and walked over to the large tub in the corner of his room. It was a lot bigger than her own was, presumably, because of how large he was.

She sunk into the water for her second time that day, loving the feeling as it burnt her skin, turning it as pink as Sandor’s words had just moments ago. Sandor watched as the steam billowed off her skin; it glowed, almost as though there really was fire encasing her. He shook the thought from his head, and made his way to the bath, sinking in behind his wife and stretching out his legs.

“Hells, woman. Do you want to burn off the rest of me?” Sandor grunted, but his wife only lulled her head back against him, somehow hotter than even the waters they sat in.


	7. The Hidden Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite posted: 04/07/2020. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy Guys!

Tyrion Lannister often wondered about Nora, and how she was keeping here with The Hound. He had known her, or of her, since she was a small child. The few that knew of her abilities whispered hushed words of her wildfire. The Imp had been there, on the cobbled steps nearby, when the flames had engulfed Nora’s small home.

She couldn’t have been older than thirteen at the time, and he had been shocked to see her emerge from the fire. Tyrion had wondered then if she was a Targaryen but soon realised that her history did not match, and yet, she had managed to walk through the flames unscathed, not a single mark other than the sooty ash that clung to her skin. When he had touched her arm to pull her from sight, it had scorched him like hot iron.

He had managed to keep her cloaked and hidden in a small room at Baelish’s whorehouse, and had one of the girls there summon Hyntre. Tyrion and Hyntre had made a pact that day, ensuring that the secret was safe, that no one would find out. The fire had been put down as an unattended candle, and they had believed that no one else would find out. He had been wrong to expect Petyr to keep his mouth shut, ‘ _secrecy’s for the sexual endeavours only’_ the squirmy git had taunted. It had not taken long for Cersei and Robert to find out, and if it were not for Robert’s dismissive nature, he was sure his sister would have had the girl’s head long ago.

As Tyrion watched her now, hands fiddling with the peonies as she sipped on summer wine, he feared for her. He knew his sister well, and she was not the kind to forget. Cersei was dangerous, and unforgiving, a fact he knew all too well.

Nora jumped as Tyrion’s voice called her name out into the open air, and she turned quickly. “Forgive me, my Lady, I did not mean to give you a fright.” Tyrion murmured warmly, walking over to where she sat.

The young woman smiled back at the small man, ignoring the interruption into her deep thought and the way it began to float away as she spoke. “Good evening, Lord Tyrion.” She gripped at his arm as he hauled himself up onto the bench beside her. Tyrion was sure that Cersei had ordered these to be slightly too high for him, so she could enjoy watching as he struggled up. Nora offered him the cup of warm red liquid, taking a sip when he politely declined.

She was slightly surprised, given that he was usually drunker than a sailor was at this time of day. Nora had seen Tyrion only a handful of times since staying here in the Red Keep; it felt strange to sit and talk as they once had. The Imp had been a great support after the fire, ensuring her education was paid for and that protection was always around. She wondered if he knew she was aware of the escort that followed her, keeping in the shadows as to not be seen.

“How are you keeping, Lady Clegane?” Tyrion asked, leaning back into the seat. “It’s been a while since we last spoke; I see you drink now.” His voice was both accusatory and concerned.

Nora snorted at his words, almost choking on her mouthful of wine. “I can’t leave my chambers without someone finding me.” She said voice flat. “This place is a maze, yet you all seem to know exactly where I am. It’s quite frustrating.” Tyrion noted the underlying sadness in the girls voice; it was true, the garden in which they sat was in the deeper part of the ground and he had still found her.

Tyrion raised a brow, “Is it Clegane you’re hiding from? Has he hurt you?” Nora rolled her eyes; of course, that is what everyone must think. _The Hound_ , scaring his fearful young wife.

“He’s the only one I don’t find myself hiding from.” Her voice soft, cheeks reddening at her admission. “When I’m with him, it is as though Cersei and Joffrey, and all the rest of you can’t touch me.”

Tyrion smiled warmly at the blushing Lady, pleased to hear that she felt safe, but he wondered how safe she truly was here, even the King’s _dog_ for protection. “It would be a sight to see them try.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed when he saw the Lannister speaking to his wife, and cleared his throat. Nora jumped again, earning a laugh from the dwarf. “Clegane.” Tyrion nodded at the tall man; he really was extraordinarily tall and the small man had to lean back to see his full figure.

Sandor grunted a respond, indicating for Nora to follow him. The Lannister Imp followed and it took all he had not to push the man over. He pulled at Nora’s arm, “Haven’t seen ya fer a while.” Sandor grunted when they were out of earshot. The girl smiled up at him when she realised that he sounded annoyed.

_Did he miss her?_

He seemed to guess what she was thinking, and made a grunting noise. “Missed that sweet cunt of yours.” Sandor’s voice was a feral snarl, and despite the company that walked behind them, he gripped at her behind and placed a sloppy kiss on her head. His crude words were enough to have her thighs aching, a deep longing settling between them.

“We’ll have time for that later.” He promised, continuing to walk.

A feeling of unease settled in Nora’s chest – _something bad was about to happen_ , she could sense it. “Where are we going?” She asked suspiciously, pulling back against Sandor’s guiding hand.

Sandor looked down at her, “Cersei wants to see you.” His hand jerked her forward when his words froze her in place. He let out a frustrated sigh. “The quicker we’re done here, the quicker I can fuck you again.”

Nora could feel herself growing smaller with each step, the lump in her throat larger than ever as she shot a panicked look back at Tyrion. As the Throne Room loomed in front of them, she wanted nothing more than to be back in the hidden garden with him.

Joffrey sat in The Iron Throne, Cersei to his right. Sandor let go of Nora, taking his place on the right of the young King and leaving her in the middle of the room, oblivious to the events that were about to follow.

Tyrion glanced worriedly at the girl as he passed her, ignoring the look of disgust that his sister gave him when he came to sit beside her.

Nora’s eyes were wide, arms stiff as her hands gripped the side of the long green dress she wore. An unnerving silence filled the room, so quiet that Nora heard the boots before she saw the men. The Gold Cloaks surrounded her in a second, pushing her to the floor. She winced at the crack of her knees on the hard floor, the sound echoing around the large room.

It happened so quick that the bodies moved in slow motion and Sandor fought against the reactive way his legs twitched, screaming at him to move forward as he refrained from stopping the men from touching her.

There was a swishing of fabric as Cersei Lannister stood. Dressed all in red she looked **deadly** ; There was certain prowess to her movements, quiet and stealthy, as though she really was a lion out on a hunt.

“We were going to be good friends, you and I, Lady Clegane.” Cersei spoke, voice cold but words careful. She stopped in front of the kneeling girl before pulling her hair backwards, and for the first time since Nora had entered the hall, their eyes met. “I’m disappointed.”

Ilyn Payne walked forward. “Lady Nora Clegane, you are found guilty of treason.” Sandor’s eyes widened and he glanced to where Tyrion Lannister sat. Their expression mirrored one another’s. Joffrey clapped. “Under King Joffrey’s reign, you are punished by fifteen lashes of flagellation, administered by whip.”

Cersei’s lip twitched as she re-took her place beside the throne. She pushed away Tyrion’s protesting hands, shooting him a glare as she nodded to Meryn Trant.

Sandor was frozen in place as the armoured man ripped at Nora’s gown, exposing her back to the cold air of the room and his fingers wrapped instinctively around the hilt of his sword. There was a crack of the whip against the stoned floor as Meryn Trant readied it for the assault.

Nora’s skin was covered in goose flesh and the hairs on her arms stuck up in anticipation. A searing pain flushed through her whole body as the whip made contact with her bare skin; it was a scorching burn that grabbed at her stomach and her heart, clenching tightly around both and making bile rise in her throat. There was not time to catch breath before the next strike came, sending the sear through her for a second time.

She began to count in her head, eyes becoming more blurred with each lash. They looked up absently around the tenth and she had to blink them to rid the tears that blinded her, searching for Sandor as another hit racked through her figure. When they finally found him, she could see the pained expression on his face, nostrils flared as his own eyes followed the trained hand of Meryn Trant that drove the whip against her back once again.

The skin of her back sizzled at the sting of the whip, and she bit her lip to stop from screaming. Joffrey’s voice rained down over the hall. “Ser Meryn!” His eyes were full of a vicious hunger. “You’ll keep going until the little whore begs you to stop.”

Sandor’s breath caught in his throat, knowing Nora’s thoughts before she had even made the decision. _She would not beg_. The girl was more foolish than he originally thought and she was going to get herself killed.

The lashes came quick and fast onto her back, Sandor could see the red welts from where he stood, and for the first time since he had met the girl he found himself wishing she’d stop being so damn stubborn. Joffrey wouldn’t stop; the bastard was too cruel for mercy.

“Enough.” Sandor barked when another hit came down on her back, storming forward from his post and grabbing the flogger from the Knight’s hand before the material could make contact with Nora. Joffrey seethed, face turning as red as the welts on his wife’s skin.

Cersei raised her hand to silence his protests and her eyes narrowed at the tall man leaning over Nora. “Dog, I have it on good knowledge that you obtained Moon Tea from Maester Pycell. Do you deny these claims?”

Sandor growled back at her. “Aye, I got the damn tea. Are ya gonna lash me too?”

A flash of victory ran through Cersei’s face and she smirked, calling off the guards. “We’ll see how much protection you offer, _dog_ , when you find out who she is.” She nodded to the girl, who lay now, harsh breath visible on the cool floor. “I hear you fear fire.” From the corner of his eye, Sandor could see Tyrion wince at his sisters words. “It’s a shame you’re married to someone who so easily creates it.”

“Cersei-” Tyrion’s voice held a warning. Sandor’s chest was heaving now, face turned upwards in a deadly snarl. At that moment, he truly did look like a Hound. Cersei saw it too, retreating backwards into her seat. “Leave.” She ordered dismissively.

Ignoring the glare of his elder sibling, Tyrion made his way to where the girl lay and nodded quickly to Sandor. They would not get another chance if they did not leave now.

The tall brute lifted her with ease, careful not to touch the mess of her back as he made his way down the halls to her chamber. A fear settled in Tyrion’s stomach at what would happen next as he followed, and he found himself wishing they were still sat in the hidden garden. The girl had been right, only _The Hound_ could save her.


	8. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Nora battle with their own minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah - I have tormented over this chapter for an entire month (posted 28/07/2020). 
> 
> I've written, rewritten and written again whilst battling with the structure and wording throughout. It's been a journey, Chapter 8. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> C

_The man stood in front of her, the scars of his face melted into place; memoirs of a ravenous fire, licking close to his eyes before retreating down his neck. A destructive path that screamed of a stolen childhood imprinted for all to see._

_Nora’s body ached with the same fire that seemed to engulf him, begging to be freed from the confines of her small figure. She could feel it most days; the pulsing rush of flames as they brushed just beneath her skin, her blood its own pot of boiling liquid, it warmed her from her scalp to the tips of her toes. Even as she stood, now, watching the scarred man, it swam in the depths of her._

_The man had not moved an inch, she realised, and as she continued to watch him, she was sure he had not even blinked. His large brown eyes locked on her, wide with emotion that Nora hadn’t seen before. She took a step towards him, never taking her eyes off the man. At signs of movement, the statuesque trance broke and the large man’s feet fell into a mirrored walk, backwards. Away from her._

**_Fear_ ** _, she thought, noting the way his eyes widened even further, dragging the marred structure of his face upwards towards his hairline. **He was scared of her**. _

_As she attempted to speak, Nora found her lips had been stuck together. The warmth under her skin increasing by the second as she struggled against the invisible glue that bound her to silence in the same way it had for the man in front of her. Nora finally broke eye contact, hands clawing at her mouth, fingers grappling to edge the flesh away from her teeth._

_When she finally looked back up, the man had all but disappeared into the distance. Her skin sizzled now, and when she looked down, her entire body was burning. A haunting scream wrenched through the prison of her lips, echoing in the empty place she now stood and drumming into her ears over and over and over._

_Somewhere, in the midst of the emptiness, she heard it. A whisper in the air, begging to her, asking what seemed an impossible task._

_“Wake up, fire girl.” It repeated, familiar and comforting._

_She hadn’t even realised she was asleep._

Sandor sat in the seat beside Nora’s bed, as he had each evening since for over a week. The smell of her wounded flesh reminded him on the stench that had stuck to his face for months after Gregor had pushed it into the fire, and there were days were it almost drove him away. That, or fear that she would wake up and he’d be faced with an inevitable decision.

He had forced the Lannister Imp to tell him everything as the Maester had pressed against herbal concoctions against the welts and into the wounds that encased Nora’s back. The cuts made patterns of deep reds, purples and greens against her pale skin, and Sandor hoped for her sake that they disappeared. As Tyrion spoke, he had continued to watch her, never taking his eyes away for more than a second.

“Just my fucking luck.” Sandor had snapped when Tyrion finished describing the _abilities_ that the girl possessed. “Stuck with a damned fire bitch.”

“She is anything but damned.” Tyrion had stated, before leaving.

Nora hadn’t moved an inch since he’d lain her in this position, face down and back exposed, and he wondered if she would again. The Maester had said her body was recovering from the shock, but affirmed that she _would_ wake.

Sandor spent the days beside the King’s side, loyalty compelling him to honor his oath to protect the boy but saved his evenings for her. He hadn’t decided if he would stay, or run for the hills when she woke, but for now he sat in a comfortable silence. Tyrion began to send food around the third day, and soon it became routine: finish in the Hall, return to Nora, eat and drink until his belly was so full of wine that it sent him to sleep. A fear had twisted itself within him, knotting around his organs and running in the red liquid beneath his skin and, despite his best efforts, it would seem no amount of wine could calm it or make it go away.

He had become accustomed to being alone with her and jumped when a knock sounded at the door. Sandor grunted a command of entry, surprised when Sansa came in and sat beside him. She didn’t say anything, as though she were scared he would rip her in two if she did.

“What do you want, Little Bird?” Sandor asked gruffly, drinking more wine.

Sansa eyed him carefully before taking a cup of her own. “I’m here to drink wine.” The large man laughed at the girl, but poured wine into her cup with a shrug. It wasn’t his job to babysit the Stark girl, she could do what she wanted.

After a pause, Sansa spoke again. “Do you think she will wake up?”

“I don’t know. I’m not God.” Sandor grunted, making her blush again.

Despite embarrassment heating her cheeks, Sansa sipped at her wine and didn’t move from her spot beside the man. “I hope she does. You and her are the only people I have here.” She kept her gaze locked on Nora, hoping Sandor wouldn’t push her statement more.

“She’ll wake, Little Bird.” He murmured. Despite the unknown, he hoped that he was true.

Sansa nodded. “Will you pray with me?” The man didn’t respond, but closed his eyes all the same as she whispered words of innocence.

The girl had stayed for a few hours before Shae, the handmaiden, came looking, tutting at her choice of company. _The irony of whores_ , Sandor had wanted to say, as she had pulled Sansa from the room.

In the absence of company, Sandor found his mind drifting to the time he had first seen Nora. She had been a Blain girl, auburn haired and mesmerising. Not fair of blood, but wealthy enough to be noticed without the need to ask for gold in her pockets for the attention. She had truly been a girl then, no more than fifteen, as she sat on the shores of the Bay. Sandor had known of her mother, and had heard of her death too; mysterious fires had surrounded that family for as long as he had known the name. He wondered how he had not caught on sooner.

She had been sat, crossed legged, in the sand, a large book in hand. It was the first time he had seen any woman without their hair in twists and curls; it had fallen down past the small of her back, wispy in the blowing winds, and her hands had pushed it away from her face every few seconds. Lips slightly parted, she had sat and read for hours, until the shore had been engulfed in water and the sea had lapped at her ankles.

Sandor had been waiting on armour, and had watched the girl all day. He hadn’t seen her again until Cersei ordered them to wed, and had been slightly surprised when she had emerged from the small building. She had been angry that day, almost completely opposite from how he had remembered her from the bay. He had felt it that day, a sense of dread that this was all life had to give and he’d just have to damn well deal with it. It was the same fear he felt when he looked at her now. The God’s owed him nothing, he’d known that for most of his life. But hells, did she make him question every fibre of his being.

Sandor sighed, walking to the bed and pushing the red hair off her pale face. “Wake up, fire girl.”. 

A whisper, a prayer, a command.


End file.
